


Wanted Dead or Alive

by gabrielstolethetardis



Series: Destiel One-Shots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Awkward Kissing, Criminal Castiel, FBI Agent Bobby Singer, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielstolethetardis/pseuds/gabrielstolethetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is a wanted felon, and Dean is the FBI agent whose sole goal for the last few years of his life has been to capture him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanted Dead or Alive

“Yeah, I’ve got a visual on the subject,” Dean whispered into his walkie-talkie, quietly drawing his revolver from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “He appears armed, assumed dangerous.”

A gravely voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, sounding vaguely annoyed. “Don’t do anything stupid, Winchester. Wait for backup.”

Dean’s jaw twitched. “I know this guy, Bobby. We’ve got five minutes, tops, before he’s underground again. I am _not_ letting this bastard get away again.”

“I said _wait for backup_ ,” Bobby growled, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. “That’s an order, agent.”

Dean’s expression hardened. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Bobby sounded relieved. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Not a problem.” Dean crept forward, keeping in the shadows as he tailed his subject through the dank alleyways of Chicago. “Ten-four.” He clicked the walkie-talkie off and tucked it in his pocket, placing both hands on his gun and slipping silently through the tight brickwork, timing his footsteps with the other man’s.

God, he could almost _taste_ the victory. Years— _years­—_ he’d been tailing the same criminal, drawing so close only to loose him again, to let him slip through his fingers. He’d be damned if he was going to let it happen again.

Castiel Novak. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, five-foot eleven, and the most cunning son of a bitch Dean had ever laid eyes on. It started with a series of thefts in Portland, spiraling quickly into a string of bodies across the West Coast that Dean shivered to even think about. He knew everything there was to know about Castiel: track record, extended family, high school prom date—hell, he even knew the guy’s favorite food. But still, here he was, chasing Castiel from state to state and coming up with _nothing_ , nothing but increased frustration and the sure beginnings of stomach ulcers.

No, he was going to catch that bastard _today_ , so help him. Screw Bobby; Dean wasn’t just going to sit on his ass and wait for backup. Castiel was _his_ ; _he_ was going to be the one to snap cuffs around those pale, skinny wrists.

All of a sudden, Castiel’s footsteps stopped, and Dean halted as well, quieting his breathing until his chest barely moved, straining to hear something, _anything._ For a couple of beats, nothing moved; Dean swore his heart stopped beating.

Then, all at once, Castiel’s footsteps started up again at a rapid pace, echoing loudly up the alley, and with a loud curse, Dean took off after him, his arms pumping in an effort to gain momentum. He knew from experience how quickly Castiel could run.

Dean could sense himself gaining on Castiel, and a wide grin overtook his lips, his legs moving impossibly faster until he could _see_ Castiel, his legs a blur as he wove in and out of trash cans. Castiel thrust out an arm, sending a trashcan spinning towards Dean; without missing a beat, Dean hurtled the can and used the momentum to launch himself at Castiel, taking the other man down with a startled gasp.

“Got you, you son of a bitch,” Dean gasped, struggling to keep Castiel pinned. He reached frantically in his pocket for his cuffs, but before he could snap them on Castiel’s wrists, the other man elbowed Dean right in the jaw, sending Dean reeling backwards.

Dean swore, staggering to his feet and taking off after Castiel again, his head ringing. Already, an angry sort of defeat weighed him down; here he was again, chasing Castiel through the dark streets, and _again_ , Castiel was getting away. It made Dean want to punch something; instead, he grit his teeth and ran faster.

Dean wasn’t a particularly religious man. He’d been to church maybe twice in his entire life, and he honestly believed God and angels to be a bunch of crap that people told themselves so they could sleep at night. However, when he turned a sharp corner and met a dead end—the same dead end that had stopped Castiel in his tracks—he found himself thanking God and every angel he could think of for their kindness.

“Castiel Novak,” Dean panted, extracting his handcuffs from his pocket and holding them in one hand, his pistol in the other. He trained the gun on Castiel, finger hovering over the trigger. “You are under arrest for breaking and entering, theft, fraud, and multiple accounts of first-degree murder. You have the right to remain silent; anything that you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you—“

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel chuckled, cutting Dean off mid-Miranda Right. “You seem to think that you’re arresting me.”

“You’re damn right.” Dean showed Castiel the cuffs, dangling them from one finger. “Now, we can either do this the easy way—“ he shook the cuffs, “—or the hard way.” He cocked his gun, adjusting the aim so it rested directly over Castiel’s heart. “Your choice.”

Castiel shook his head, a sly smile spreading across his face; it made shivers run down Dean’s spine. “You’re wrong, Dean.” He took a step closer to Dean; Dean’s finger twitched against the trigger. “Do you honestly think I would let myself get trapped here without a backup plan?”

Dean felt a spike of terror shoot through him, but it faded quickly in lieu of assuredness. “I know you better than you know yourself. I can tell when you’re bluffing—when you’re _scared._ ” Dean grinned. “You have no plan. So let’s get this over with.”

He took a step towards Castiel, keeping the gun trained on Castiel’s heart. Castiel’s throat pulsed—nervousness. “Fine,” he said, putting his hands up in the air in surrender. “Put that thing away, agent.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean scoffed, his grip on the gun tightening as he stepped closer to Castiel. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Castiel sighed and obliged, and quickly, Dean snapped the cuffs on Castiel. The metallic click of the bolts sliding into place was like angel song to Dean; high with elation, he grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and turned him around.

His finger jerked off of the trigger—not out of lack of caution, but out of shock. As soon as Castiel’s face came in line with Dean’s, he leaned forward, covering Dean’s lips with his own and pressing his body to Dean’s. Despite being a seasoned FBI agent, Dean felt his gun slip from his hand when Castiel roughly used his body to push Dean against one of the brick walls of the alley, moving his lips gently against Dean’s.

It took Dean a few seconds to get control of himself, a few more to finally get Castiel off of him. His lips tingling and his breathing labored, Dean stared at Castiel with wide eyes. “That- that’s not in your profile,” was all he could think to say, his brain still reeling slightly.

Castiel winked at Dean, bringing his hands out from behind his back with the handcuffs held in one hand, Dean’s key ring in the other. “Honey, you don’t know a _thing_ about me.” Then, even as Dean lunged forward, Castiel stooped, grabbed Dean’s gun from where it rested on the dirty concrete, and melted away into the shadows, leaving Dean grasping at nothing and yelling every curse word he knew and then some.

Bobby and backup appeared a few minutes later to find Dean slumped against the alley wall, his head tilted back against the bricks and his eyes closed tightly.

Bobby analyzed the situation quickly. “So he got away again?”

Dean didn’t answer.

Bobby sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. “You idjit. I told you to wait for backup!”

“I was going to, dammit!” Dean exclaimed, straightening and slamming his fist against the wall angrily. “But then he ran, and I cornered him…” Dean let out a long breath, some of the tension in his shoulders leaking out. “I _had_ him, Bobby. I had him in _cuffs_ , and then he got away.”

Bobby raised his eyebrow. “Just like that? Dean, you’ve been tracking this pain in our ass for _years_ , and he just _got away?_ ”

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Um… yeah. He kind of… stole my keys and my gun and then disappeared.”

Bobby’s face went red. “How the hell did that happen, boy? What, you just let him seduce you into givin’ them to him?”

Dean’s face went an interesting combination of ghostly white and bright red. “Let’s just go,” he grumbled, pushing past Bobby and the other agents sullenly. “If we start tracking him now, we can probably find him before he jumps states again.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “This is coming out of your paycheck, Winchester,” he threatened as he and the other agents followed Dean into the shadows.

High above them, perched on the roof of a nearby building and looking down on the group of agents curiously, Castiel let a slow smile ripple across his face. “Sorry, Dean,” he said into the empty air, straightening his legs and standing against the moonlit sky like an avenging angel. “You’ll only find me if I want to be found.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “It’s been fun, but all good things must come to an end.” Then, he turned and ran, putting Dean Winchester behind him for good.


End file.
